The Materializing of Matthew

Now, what did I like best about being an old maid? If you cut away the drudgery from this trite term and the women that people usually picture when they say "old maid", then you get a picture of me. Well, basically (and not to blow my own trumpet), I am blessed with such absolute freedom. I know I'm using superfluous words now, but I cannot help it. I am so happy to be a matured woman. I'll emphasize the past tense to signify that I have passed the generally accepted peak of life more than thirty years ago.

Dear reader, I am sixty years old. I am no spring chicken but neither am I a limping duck which has lost its annoying quack. I like to tell myself, personally, that I am a cactus flower. Sharp-witted like its thorns; enduring like its only flower on a barren plant. I do not have a sharp sense of humour but I do have an empathetic sense of connection to those around me. Or at least, most of the time.

I live in the small village of Winfield where everyone knows everyone. It so happens that I live next door to old Mrs. Good and her husband. They have three grown children who had already moved out of the family home. Mrs. Good is ten years older than I am. I guess the age difference is not so wide between us as we get older but I cannot help thinking that she is an old dear. I feel that she looks the part of a nosey aunt with a bullet train for a mouth.

She constantly seeks my company every day, sometimes even twice a day on the pretext of borrowing sugar, salt... you name it. She has mentioned everything in my little pantry. Actually it is not borrowing but literally taking. One day she invited me to a dance at the community centre. I declined immediately. This was not the first time I had turned her down.

"These dances are for the youngsters. They don't expect to see an old maid. It will make the dance lose its sense of cool." I said, as a matter of fact.

"What does it matter? You have not been out for ages. It's about time you got out to meet people." Mrs. Good said, rather sternly.

"My dear, have you gone blind? I go to town almost every day. Now, how often do I see you? Ten times a day. You could practically live with me." I answered.

Mrs. Good shrugged.

Well, I was exaggerating. She dropped by twice a day but it seemed her presence had a strong hold on me.

"You walk to town but you don't mix around. How are you going to meet someone?" She asked.

"I am actually very contented with my life. Is it wrong to be happy?" I asked.

"During my twenties right up to the big five o I was constantly on the lookout for a nice man. I'm passed all that now. I dated you know, but it never worked out. I'm just so contented with my current situation that I don't think I have space for a man now." I continued.

"Hey, I'm your friend and I want the best for you. I say, just go. I'll be there too." She said.

Although I suspected the reason she wanted to be there was to spy on her youngest son, Matthew and his latest fling, I said nothing. She would deny it vehemently. I was an excuse so that she could go. She would tell Mr. Good that poor Angela needed to get out for a bit. Mrs. Good had already sworn off Matthew's private affairs, so she must give the impression that she was not in the least concerned about which female her indecisive, not young anymore son dated.

I have to admit that I smiled when I thought of Matthew. He had come a long way since the first time we met thirty years ago. After Mrs. Good left, my thoughts were transported to a time when I had just graduated and starting upon my first job - teaching right here in the high school of Winfield.

I was young, ambitious and had the world at my feet, so it seemed then. I felt I could do anything. The first year that I arrived in Winfield High, I was a sensation. I had managed to discipline remedial class students using a soft touch - without neither scolding nor instilling. Remedial classes were classes that teachers dread. Students were obnoxious, violent and lazy. Some just did not want to be there. Some slept in class. I had managed to inspire them to study. They stopped playing truant, and students got to trust me.

What did I do exactly? The truth was that I wasn't sure. I had gone about my years teaching in the same school, writing textbooks in between and being a counsellor. I embarked on nature studies on the side and became a tour guide to tourists on the weekends. I had a pretty nice lifestyle, albeit with not many close friends. I did meet many people, but I was always on the quiet side.

My students who are now parents and some of them young grandparents, tell me that I was a dedicated, caring teacher who truly believed in their best during the times when students saw the worst in themselves.

"How did I do that?" I asked.

"You remembered my name and my birthday. You knew when I was happy or sad. You would ask me how things were at home. Sometimes you dropped by to visit me. No other teacher did that." Susan, a student of mine, now a mother of two, replied.

"Oh, I see." I said.

"I hope that I did make academic progress with you as well as being concerned about your personal wellbeing?" I asked her.

She had winked.

"You know me, I never had an interest in studying. All I wanted to do was pass my time in school." She said.

So there I had it. I did not inspire academic excellence in most students, but I did care about their wellbeing.

My mind was jolted to the present. On a hot Friday night we were at the stuffy community centre. It was the heart of our village. Everyone who wanted to meet anyone else went there for its monthly functions. Soon, we were pulled into a group of younger people, thanks to Mrs. Good, who was eyeing a woman whom Matthew had been talking to.

"How long have you been dating Matthew?" My old friend asked a tall, pretty woman with red lipstick.

"Two months, Mrs. Good." She said.

Her name was Gerda, and she looked rather amused at Mrs. Good's antiques. Matthew eyed his mother sternly. He was not the least pleased.

"I care about your welfare, son." Hissed Mrs. Good.

"Isn't this a bit too much?" Matthew said, pulling his mother into a corner.

Mrs. Good had a bad habit of pulling me along whenever she was with me, so I had to listen.

"You keep on dating the wrong women. I just want what's best for you." She said, angrily.

Matthew looked at her, and then at her hands, who were clutching my arm. I looked down uncomfortably. I slowly unclasped her clutch over my arm.

I wanted to go home, or at the very least be away from the maddening, noisy crowd. There were a few older men ranging from fifty to eighty, but I was not interested. Some men had difficulty walking, some very slow in movement. The few that looked good were already taken. To give an objective view, there were in fact eligible men my age, but I just wasn't interested.

I saw Paul, the last date I had. He was still single after we parted ways amicably. It was my decision; somehow I always decided that all men I dated were not quite right. Perhaps something was wrong with me. So to do away with why it did not work, I have stopped dating altogether.

Paul asked me how I was. I said I was fine. We made small talk. He talked about new shops in the mall, and I about my part-time teaching at college. Paul was a man whom I saw in town every day. He was the manager of the local shopping mall. At sixty, he is working full-time and has not relinquished his position. Fit, vibrant and interesting, I thought he was the perfect date. He had no children or excess baggage of an ex-wife. After two years, I called it quits. I felt that our relationship was one of friends and not more. Paul did not feel the same way and the break-up was difficult for him. It has been a year now and we remain friends. On and off, I will drop by his office and he will drop by my place.

I excused myself after a few minutes. I went to a side bar, not knowing if an order of drinks were required should I want to sit there.

"Well, are you getting a drink?" Matthew asked from behind me.

"Ah, you startled me. No, I just wanted some fresh air." I said.

He laughed. It was the first time I had seen him laugh that night.

"Then you should go outside, not to the bar." He said, still laughing.

I was glad that I had provided him with some kind of entertainment at my expense, but I was not the least flattered of his perception of me.

"Of course." I said.

I was rather annoyed with myself. I did want some fresh air with a drink and a seat in tow. Is that too much to ask?

I managed to squeeze myself out a pack of sardines. Of men and women dancing, of people talking and shaded by the neon-disco lights, of Mrs. Good, and her idea of getting me here. But of course, I did acknowledge, it was my decision to come. To keep her quiet for the next few days, I told myself.

Outside, I admired at the wonder of the stars, twinkling. The night was hot and dry. With the absence of clouds and fog, the stars shone like diamonds.

"Found the fresh air you were looking for?" A familiar voice said, right behind me again.

He swaggered when he walked. He appeared feisty.

"You have the habit of popping up behind me." I said, as a matter of fact.

"You have the habit of following my mother everywhere." He retorted.

"That's not true!" I said.

"You came here to spy on me. You wanted to know if I was seeing someone." He said his words clearly and slowly, as if he was charging me in court.

"Look, I came on your mother's insistence. That is the truth. I wouldn't have come if she did not insist." I said.

I was a little sad. I felt pathetic that I had to be dragged along at my age like I was a child being forced to the dentist.

He kept quiet. He did not know what to reply, or perhaps he did not know where I was getting at. Naturally, as I was not making any point. Then, for what seemed to be an eternity, we stared at the stars. Like I said, I did not have the sharpest sense of humour. I did not have the wit to hold up a conversation with someone whom I felt uneasy with. Neither did he. He was always sharp-tongued. Even back in those days when he was my student. Youngsters tended to laugh at my fumbles when I do not get their point of view, but they did like me anyway, at least most of the time.

"You once told me to follow my heart and chase my dreams." Matthew said.

"I also said that to all of you in class." I said.

"But you did mean what you said to us students, no?" He asked.

"I did." I said.

Oh, God, how much I did meant the words I said back then. I was proud of my remedial classes.

"And you did well, compared to many others from the remedial class." I said, thinking of his internet start-up business right after university. He became an overnight success and had a high-flying lifestyle since then.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

He was thinking of the past, I thought.

He was standing by my side and still consumed by the stars.

"My mother is so bothered about me and the perfect woman I am supposed to look for." He said.

"It's natural. You're her youngest child and the only one who is not married. To give her credit for it, you are forty-five and still on the dating scene like you were twenty years ago. It seemed to her you did not move on. " I said.

"So you think I should settle down right now?" He asked.

Now he faced me, standing right in front of me.

"I think you should follow your heart and do what makes you happy." I said.

"How come you've never settled down?" He asked me suddenly.

It was an abrupt question. I did not see it coming.

"I don't know. Maybe the right one never came along. Years passed and here I am, all alone. It seems that the years go faster and faster." I said.

"Actually I am happy alone." I added.

He was silent for a moment, thinking of something deep. I broke the silence, not wanting it to drag into a long silence, which in my opinion, was uncomfortable.

"How is it with you and Gerda?" I asked.

He shrugged. He said that they were just fooling around and enjoying each other's company. She was a rising model in the fashion world. At twenty-five, the world was her oyster.

"She is my trophy girlfriend and I'm like Donald Trump. My women have to be beautiful." He said.

Matthew had always been open with me. I wished that he would soften it at the edges a little. It kind of hurt my feelings as a woman beyond her prime beauty. I do not think I look my age but I am careless with my looks. I have no makeup on simply because I find it cumbersome to remove makeup. Anyhow it is not like I wanted to attract a potential spouse.

"How long are you back this time?" I asked.

He looked into my eyes.

"How long do you think I should stay?" He asked.

"How would I know?" I answered, shaking my head.

"How do you find Gerda? Do you think we have the chemistry to keep a relationship going?" He asked.

I must admit that I was watching them dancing together without a care in the world. Both of them appeared to be in a state of bliss.

"I hardly know her. I cannot say, but you both looked like the perfect couple." I answered.

I felt the pressure of some hairy fabric on my shoulders. I turned instinctively to my left shoulder and saw that Matthew had draped me in his overcoat.

Although he did not lay a finger on me, I tensed.

"I think that you have felt the chill in the air?" He asked.

"A little. Thank you." I said.

He remembered that I disliked the chill.

We were into autumn, and I came wearing a lavender cardigan because it was always so hot in the community centre, and I could never find a place to hang my coat on dance days.

I removed the coat from my shoulders and pressed them into his arms.

"I'll manage." I smiled.

"I think Gerda is waiting for you." I continued.

He looked at me. I felt the intense stare in his eyes.

"Damn it, Angela." He muttered.

I stepped back, a little afraid. Had he too much to drink?

"I was trying to be nice to you. I was trying to be the gentleman but you didn't give me the chance." He said.

"Take my coat. You are cold. I insist." He said, flinging the coat at me.

Apprehensive of his drunkard state, I took the coat and buttoned myself in it. It smelt of smoke and of Matthew, his scent.

"Thank you for the coat. I really mean it." I said, really not meaning what I said.

I have not seen him drunk before. I looked at the coat which I was wearing; feeling its fabric with my fingers. I dared not look up.

He narrowed the distance between us. With a rough hand, he pushed my head up so that it gazed his. He gazed downwards, and pushed my head towards his lips.

His lips grazed my cheeks, then my lips. He probed my lips open and I fell naturally against him.

It all happened very suddenly. I was unable to comprehend the situation or to react. I was a doll, neither for nor against my will.

Then I felt the colour rise to my cheeks. My lips burned. My heart was beating to the dozen.

I slapped him right across his face. I was on automatic pilot mode.

He was taken aback and seemed a little dazed.

It was then I ran towards home. I ran the quickest I had in thirty years.

"Angela, please!" His voice was full of some sort of drunkard emotion.

I knew I broke my record as I reached home in fifteen minutes compared to my usual half an hour. Not bad for a sixty year old, no?

He did not try to follow me. I did not hear footsteps nor of grass rustling behind me. Still I did not take the chance. I did not stop running.

The events after that were hazy to me. I recalled being angry and upset, and I recalled drinking that night myself in the dark comforts of home. Literally, with the lights off.

The next day, I woke up later than usual. I went into town right up to the shopping mall where Paul worked. I knocked on his office door. He had given me the privilege to do so.

We decided to lunch together, as we do sometimes. My motives, I realized were to occupy myself with something other than brood at home. I did not want to see Mrs. Good. Most of all, I did not want to see Matthew. I did not do Paul justice. I did not tell him about what happened yesterday.

We lunched at the Homes, which is a café supposed to be themed home is where the heart is. As providence would have it, there came Mrs. Good, together with son and perhaps future daughter-in-law in tow.

"Angela, I was looking for you this morning, but you were out." She said.

"Yes, I was." I said, beaming a smile.

Paul, Matthew and Gerda exchanged greetings, and all went well. Matthew and Paul knew each other from before. Only Gerda was new to the crowd. Matthew and I exchanged hellos, and I never looked at him again that afternoon.

We had good lunches. Paul was a soothing companion who took my attention away from the trivialities which I sought to forget. The other three people also had good lunches, as I could hear them saying how nice the almost home-cooked food was.

Yet, when I reached home, I remembered the overcoat. I still had it with me. That night, I climbed up the chestnut tree next to Mrs. Good's house in an attempt to return the coat. My idea was to throw it inside Matthew's room upstairs when he was out with Gerda. I saw that they left the house five minutes ago. The windows were closed but they were not locked and could be unlatched from the outside. I knew this as I had been to Matthew's room many times when I visited Mrs. Good.

Mostly I wanted to prove to myself too that I was still fit and could climb trees.

I opened the windows and was about to throw the coat inside when I was caught red-handed by Matthew.

"What the heck..." He yelled when he saw me - an old monkey hanging from a tree.

"Come in!" He said, pulling my hands.

I threw the coat in. He caught it, threw it on the bed, and pulled me into his room through the window.

"I just want to return the coat. That's all." I said three times in a row. Once from outside, the second midway in, and the third while facing him.

"Of course, yes, thank you. Thank you." Matthew stopped short of saying thank you three times.

"Your mother would ask a lot of questions, that's why I climbed in." I said.

"I understand. I appreciate that." He said, solemnly.

I shrugged, then said, "I'm going out now."

I made a move to climb out of the window, but he grasped my hands.

"Please, Angela, can we talk?" He asked.

"Sure." I said, looking at our linked hands.

"I am so sorry about yesterday. I was very drunk and I behaved badly towards you. I hope that you can forgive me. I was a jerk. I tried looking for you this morning but you had already left. Then you were lunching with Paul, and did not return until late evening." He said.

"I forgive you." I said.

"Can we hug?" He asked.

I nodded. We embraced, passionately and vividly.

For me, the world became more colourful and bright.

The world stopped for a second. I hugged him as hard as I could. It was wrong somewhat and not entirely platonic. He hugged me tight too.

We slowly let go of our hug.

Then I said the most scandalous possible thing I had ever said in my life.

"Would you like to kiss me or are you repelled by an older woman?" I asked.

His eyes widened.

"I could kiss you. You decide if I am repelled." He said.

He did, ever so gently, and then it was hard and possessive. He drew me closer to him. I felt the warmth of his body and his masculine scent. My entire being responded. We were soon kissing passionately and our hands were touching each other everywhere.

"May I take you to bed?" He whispered.

I nodded, our eyes locking.

He made passionate love to me and I responded with every fibre in my body. It felt so good, yet it felt so wrong. He was my former student, and although I might have admired him from afar, I've never thought it would come to an affair.